Killing Yourself to Live

On the opening page of Killing Yourself to Live, Chuck Klosterman warns his readers of the strange and eclectic mix of topics that comprise his book: “This is a story about love, death, driving, narcissism, America, the ill-advised glamorization of recreational drug use, not having sex, eating breadsticks at Olive Garden, talking to strangers, feeling nostalgic for the extremely recent past, movies you’ve never seen, KISS, Radiohead, Rod Stewart, and – to a lesser extent – prehistoric elephants of the Midwestern plains. If these are not things that interest you, do not read this book” (v).

No reader can say that he or she has not been warned.

Amazingly, Chuck (and I prefer to call him Chuck, rather than Klosterman – his writing style is too personable to speak of him using only his surname) is able to weave all these various themes together into one strange, interesting, and compelling story.

The book recounts Chuck’s “cross-country death trip” in 2003 to visit the locations of famous rock-star deaths. “Instead of going to the places where everything happened, I would go to the places where everything stopped” (13).

Death matters in the world of rock music. Paradoxically, “sometimes rock stars don’t start living until they die” (11). An early death – whether by accident or suicide – practically “guarantees a rock star will have a legacy that stretches beyond temporary relevance” (13). Death provides rock musicians with a certain credibility. It validates their existence and gives them qualities they never possessed while alive.

On his trip, Chuck visits hotels, abandoned lots, road intersections, lakes, and fields where famous rock stars died. Sid Vicious, Great White, Duane Allman, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Elvis, Buddy Holly, and Kurt Cobain are among the many rock obituaries. Some places are more noteworthy than others, but all are a tragic reminder of the reality of death. Even celebrities cannot conquer death.

This cross-country death trip would be interesting enough on its own, but it hardly comprises the bulk of the book. The reality of death spurs reflections about life and love – especially love. Throughout the entire trip, Chuck wrestles with his love life (or lack thereof). Tragically, Chuck appears to be his own worst enemy. One woman’s inability to love Chuck simply increases his obsession with her (21). The utter lack of any common ground between them makes her “profoundly desirable” to him (30). In an imaginary conversation with another female love interest – the one who epitomizes love to Chuck – Chuck is accused of not understanding love or death, and thus, being inappropriately obsessed with both. This is an accurate observation that, strangely enough, Chuck makes about himself through his imagined dialogue with his perfect lover.

Why do I enjoy reading Chuck? He certainly is not standard fare for religious leaders. His casual use of drugs and sex would certainly turn off many people. If so, Chuck’s books are not for you.

I identify with Chuck because we share many similarities. He thinks about death all the time. So do I. Before he embarks on his cross-country journey, he prepares for his trip by spending the bulk of his time thinking about what CD’s to bring with him. I do the same thing. Out of 2,233 CDs he brings 600. “Space will be limited, so I can only select those albums that will be undeniably essential. I elect to bring 600” (16).

Like me, Chuck likes blues-based rock but hates the blues (124). Finally, I completely concur with Chuck’s statement about KISS records: “all KISS records that don’t sound like KISS records… always tend to be the best KISS records” (214). He lists The Elder – one of my all-time favorite albums – as proof of this.

But our shared cultural sensitivities are not the most important reason I enjoy reading Chuck. More than anything else, I appreciate his painful honesty.

Chuck is clearly searching for answers about life, death, and love. And, like many in our culture, Chuck’s search takes place in the midst of contemporary life. I think what ultimately makes him so interesting to me is that he is searching for answers within the popular culture – or at the very least, in the midst of an active engagement with the popular culture. (He is, after all, the senior writer for Spin magazine and a columnist for Esquire.)

Chuck uses popular culture to help him understand and deal with death, life, and love. For example, in respect to death, Chuck carefully demonstrates how Radiohead’s Kid A is the official soundtrack for September 11, 2001, even though it was released on October 3, 2000 (86-88). In regard to love, he carefully explains how he sees every woman he’s ever cared about through KISS – the original members and the string of replacements. This ability to use popular culture as a means to understanding life, love, and death, makes Chuck incredibly interesting to me.